The Lament

Written by: Daniel Cheeseman

Solomly the mist drifted aimlessly,
cloaking moor and heather, the 
curlew and grouse silenced by
the haunting of a solitary piper.
Kilt clad from rocky outcrop,
the lament Land Of My Youth
echoed ridge and valley.
Beckoning the lost footsteps, 
the gillie, the baker, the bankers 
son, the urchin that raided your 
orchard, once names, once faces, 
now empty spaces at the dinner 
table.
And the tune reaches out beyond
the gorse and fern to strange lands,
names we failed in geography at 
school but now etched in heart
and epitaph.
The lofty peaks point skyward like 
prayers some unclimbed, some
unanswered. The grass will grow
where boys once ran, the laughter
now an aching memory.
The piper stills plays beckoning
souls not names, the stag raises 
its head and the eagle circles
this land of our youth. To duty 
or glory from boys to men, from
men to earth. The orchard will be
quiet tomorrow and the hills less
worthy. At the dinner table a
serviette to dry the tear and the
piper will fill the glen.